


meant for two

by couldaughter



Series: author's choice [10]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-10-26 07:52:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10782639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couldaughter/pseuds/couldaughter
Summary: “Hey,” said Matty. “If Cam likes you, you’re probably alright. Let’s go get fucking wasted.”“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” said Nick, swinging an arm around Brandon’s shoulder. He swept his arm round, taking in the whole of downtown. “The world is our oyster tonight, my friends.”“Who say anything aboutfriends?” Arty asked.





	meant for two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flawsinthevoodoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawsinthevoodoo/gifts).



> Thanks to J for looking this over more than once, and for every positive DM sent.

1.  
Before meeting Cam for the first time, the only thing Brandon knew about him was that he was definitely lying about being 5 foot 7 inches. He'd played against the guy a few times, the little bastard, and he was definitely adding at least an inch to that NHL profile. 

Other than that, the guy was a blank slate. Brandon liked to go into new team environments with as little background information as possible, so he avoided player profiles and other boring shit. The last guy he’d learned anything about was Crosby, and just look how that had turned out.

He’d started checking out real estate in Columbus the moment he heard about the trade, but he didn’t find anything that suited until early August, when the lockout was looming on the horizon like a really frustrating cloud and he’d committed to going back to Alaska for god knew how long. He moved in anyway, less than half a mile from Arty’s new place, and started settling in.

Step one of settling in, after unpacking all the shit he’d piled up living in New York as a stupid kid and couldn’t quite let go of (the snowglobe of MSG and the glitter soaked model of the Empire State taking pride of place on the mantel), was getting his phone contacts expanded with the new team’s numbers.

The first guy he went to for help was Foligno, who seemed like the kind of guy who’d already talked to every guy on the team and made a genuine impact on their lives just from that one conversation.

Nick, as he insisted on being called from the moment Brandon opened his mouth to ask for the numbers, was very helpful.

He got right into Brandon’s good books when, on opening his front door to see him stood on the doorstep, he grinned and said, “No hard feelings for that game 2 fight, right?”

“If anything,” Brandon said, as Nick stepped back to let him into the hallway. “I should be apologising to you. Not that I ever _would_.”

“Sure thing, Dubinsky. I’ve heard the talk about you from all corners.” Nick’s grin ruined the effect, obviously.

Brandon shrugged. “I’m a man of many talents. Some of them are punching dudes.” He paused as they entered the living room and he took a seat on Nick’s couch. “Uh, I was hoping you might have a few of the team’s numbers. I don’t really like doing the whole individual conversation thing. That’s a lot of guys I might have punched to deal with in a couple days.”

“Sure, man,” Nick replied cheerfully, reaching for Brandon’s phone. Brandon handed it to him, settling back into the cushions. “I’ll send them right on over.” He looked up while the phones did their thing, a thoughtful look on his face. “Actually, speaking of meeting new people - me and a few guys were planning on going out for dinner tonight. You in?”

“Which guys?” Brandon asked dubiously. He was all for team unity, but fuck if he was going out for dinner with any rookies for his first team bonding event. He was feeling the urge to get a little blasted, and having anybody under 21 around while he did it made his long repressed adult responsibility flare up.

Nick squinted, looking into the middle distance. “Uh, Matty Calvert said he’d be there, he’ll bring Johansen if I read that right. Cam’s coming - Cam Atkinson - and I think I got Nikitin to agree to come, he’ll probably drag Tyutin. Maybe your buddy Anisimov too, they’ve got that whole Russian mafia thing going already.”

Brandon blinked. He hadn’t expected Nick to get something organised with that many guys so quickly. He took a second to widen his eyes, then grinned. “That sounds alright. Where are we headed?”

“We figured we’d get together downtown and then figure out what we were feeling like - apparently the restaurant scene is great here.”

“Looking forward to it,” said Brandon, taking back his phone when Nick offered it. “I’ll put it in my calendar or whatever.”

Nick laughed. “See you there, Dubi. Have a good afternoon.”

Brandon thought he really meant it.

He’d gone over to Nick’s house in Upper Arlington to get the numbers - Nick’s being the only one he’d bothered to get from the hockey grapevine - so he drove home the long way, to take in the sights. There wasn’t anything as iconic as the skyline in New York, the one Brandon had seen most days from his apartment window, but it was nice. He had the feeling he’d get to love this town, assuming he stayed long enough.

The time between getting back to his apartment and leaving again for a night out passed in a haze of reorganisation and mind-numbing daytime TV. Brandon liked to organise his stuff every so often, but the first day after unpacking all of it felt a little excessive even to him. He didn’t like feeling nervous, but, inevitably, the prospect of meeting a new team set him on edge a little.

It wasn’t _Brandon’s_ fault he could be, uh, abrasive from time to time. That was just how he was, and he’d found enough guys in the league willing to put up with him that he knew it wasn’t the worst thing he could be. Even Tortorella had stopped yelling at him quite so loud by the end of the season.

He reached the downtown meetup spot at seven, pretty much on the dot. He’d put on a nice button down but kept the jeans he’d unpacked in, figuring that he’d almost definitely spill something alcoholic on his clothes at some point - he was unlucky that way.

The rest of the guys were dressed up at about the same level of him, which was a relief. He hated being underdressed for anything, had done since he was a rookie and he’d had to wear his draft cap along with his suit. He sidled up next to Nick, who was chatting with a guy who had to be Cam Atkinson. If the height hadn’t given him away, the blond curls definitely would have. Brandon took a second to look him up and down, because - sue him - it had been a while since his last hookup, and he’d always had a thing for blonds. The guy was short, sure, but he had the same kind of muscles any hockey player would have. Nice ass, too.

Brandon glanced around, making sure no one saw the new guy making eyes at the shorty, but everyone was engaged in some kind of conversation. He’d had an understanding in New York, but it paid to be careful, considering the kind of hookups Brandon preferred.

On seeing Brandon had arrived, Nick smiled and turned to introduce him. “Glad you could make it, Dubi. This is Cam, although from the look on your face you’d already guessed that.”

Cam looked him up and down, an assessing kind of look that Brandon found unfortunately hot, for all that there was presumably nothing behind it.

“It’s the face,” Brandon lied, struggling to keep a straight face. “Only a guy from Connecticut could be that baby faced.”

“Not all of us got to grow up punching polar bears, man,” Cam replied, grinning. He was cute, Brandon realised absently, and especially when he smiled. He hadn’t met that many people who could say that their smile really did light up their whole face.

He coughed, realising he’d let the conversation pause a little too long while he got distracted _staring at Cam’s face_. What a literal rookie move. “There’s a lot more to punch in Alaska than just polar bears, y’know.”

“Like what?” Cam asked, through a giggle. An honest to god giggle. Brandon was pretty sure he was going to die. Cam was going to smile at him too many times, and his heart was going to give out, and he was going to die. It was already going a couple dozen beats faster than usual, and Brandon counted himself lucky he’d got really good at fighting down blushes.

“Moose.”

That was apparently enough to break Cam’s wavering composure, as he burst into peals of laughter that brought the attention of the rest of the group.

“Hey,” said Matty, clapping Brandon on the shoulder hard enough to bruise. “If Cam likes you, you’re probably alright. Let’s go get fucking wasted.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” said Nick, swinging an arm around Brandon’s probably-bruised shoulder. He swept his other arm in a grand arc, taking in the whole of downtown. “The world is our oyster tonight, my friends.”

“Who say anything about _friends_?” Arty asked, from where he was stood with Tyutin, presumably shittalking the rest of them in Russian between interrupting their conversations. “I am here for booze.”

“I know you love me, Arty,” said Brandon, over his shoulder. “You’d definitely have killed me by now if you didn’t.”

“Maybe I just like watching you fail,” said Arty, who had been an asshole as long as Brandon had known him and wasn’t letting a change of scenery affect him in the least. “I look forward to you striking out tonight, it warms my heart so well.”

“Whatever, bitch,” said Brandon, affectionately. He slung his own arm around Cam’s significantly lower shoulders. “Nice to meet you Cam. Your buddy Matty had a great idea just now, if you’re up for it.”

“Of course,” said Cam. He smiled again, cheeks dimpling, white teeth gleaming in the dusky light. Brandon's heart sank. He was _so_ fucked. 

2.  
(A cold apartment in Anchorage/An empty one in Springfield.)

Cam [23:42]: you up?

Brandon [23:50]: uh yeah whats up

Cam [00:00] you ever think about birds

Brandon [00:01]: go the fuck to sleep atko

Cam [00:05]: birds are out there brandon

Cam [00:06]: just think about that. birds all over the joint

Brandon [00:09]: cam didnt you ever hear that you can just say no to drugs

Cam [00:15]: im not high

Cam [00:17]: i havent slept in like two days

Brandon [00:19]: jesus fuck dude

Brandon [00:20]: sleep is important

Cam [00:21]: well duh i just havent got round to it

Brandon [00:25]: ill read you a goddamn story if you promise to go the f to sleep

Cam [00:30]: ooooooh pls i promise not to tell the guys

Brandon [00:40]: Brandon sent a file (gotftosleep.mp3)

Cam [08:30]: thanks dude

Brandon [09:00]: if u ever speak of this ill give ur barber a 20 and tell him to buzzcut you

Cam [09:30]: pfft youd miss the flow even more than i would

Brandon [10:00]: sure

Cam [11:15]: sweet comeback dubs whered you get it the sick burns store

Brandon [11:20]: fuck off

 

3.  
The first day of training camp rolled in early in the new year, and Brandon was chomping at the goddamn bit to get started with the new team. 

He made a beeline for Arty, who was sat with one of the other Russians having what looked like an impassioned argument. 

‘Oi, Anisimov,’ said Brandon, throwing his gear bag into the stall beside him. ‘I see you're fitting in just fine, then.’

Arty glanced at him, rolled his eyes, then went right back to his argument. He’d been smiling though, which Brandon took to mean the argument wasn’t anything serious. Over the past couple of years he’d picked up a decent amount of Russian, but nowhere near enough to follow whatever the hell Arty was going on about with Nikitin.

He got started on his skate laces, which somehow always managed to fuck themselves up in new and interesting ways when he forgot to tie them away before stowing them. This happened fairly often, but not often enough for Brandon to bother finding some way to permanently solve the problem. It was sorta therapeutic, picking away at the knots.

He looked up on hearing a gear bag hit the wooden seat beside him, and was greeted with the welcome sight of Cam, curls flattened by a toque and hands currently engaged in pulling off a pair of bright orange gloves.

“Hola, fashionista,” said Brandon, because he was fundamentally a douchebag. 

Cam flipped him off with a sunny smile. It was unfortunate how much that sunny smile did for Brandon, even after a few months forced distance from its effects. He was hoping he’d have become immune by then.

“How was Christmas?” Cam asked, flopping down into the stall and bending over to grab his skates. Brandon took a moment to admire the muscles in his shoulders before replying.

“Pretty good, yeah. It was nice to get to spend it with my parents, it’s been a couple years.” Brandon smiled, small and thoughtful. He missed the way Cam’s eyes softened on seeing it, but that was probably for the best. He didn’t need any more fuel on his crush fire, with the season starting in two weeks. “How was yours?”

“About the same,” replied Cam, skates already laced. “It was good seeing the whole family, half my brothers are in the services and you know how that can be.”

“Sure,” said Brandon. “Glad they could be around for the holiday.”

He finished untangling his laces and got to work jamming them on his feet. It was comforting, having that pressure around his ankles - the feeling of support he got was maybe a little weird, considering he was literally balancing on two knives, but he wouldn’t give it up for anything.

Keeping his eyes from wandering across to Cam, particularly when the guy’s chest was bare and his hair was pleasantly mussed, was difficult, but Brandon was no quitter. He would admit to only a short glance, if that, if he absolutely had to. 

They got out onto the ice without any further gay thoughts on Brandon’s part, which he was very grateful for. The cup could only hide so much.

Richards had them do standard drills at first, and Brandon lost himself in the easy repetition - skate over there, skate back, get the puck, shoot, rinse, repeat. It was weird, how different it felt doing it on an NHL training rink rather than an ECHL one - same drills, same sorta rink, but a really different atmosphere.

When they split up for a quick game of 5-on-5, Brandon got put on a line with Cam and Matty. He grinned as he skated over, patting Matty’s ass as he went by and tapping his stick against Cam’s calf. “Long time no see, Calvert,” said Brandon, mock serious.

“Not long enough,” said Matty, rolling his eyes.

Cam laughed, easy and loud, in the way he usually did. It still made Brandon’s traitorous heart flip flop, like a teenager at a rock concert, or something equally embarrassing. He was panting a little from the drills, and his fringe was starting to stick to his forehead. It was unfair, as far as Brandon was concerned. Unfair that he was still so pretty, even with that red flush in his cheeks, and the slightly heaving lungs, and the messy hair, and - well, the point was it wasn’t fair. To anyone, but especially Brandon, who was just trying to live life comfortably in a very spacious and well decorated closet.

He tore his eyes away from Cam, laughed a little nervously, and planted his skates ready to listen to Richards.

Two minutes into a five minute game, Cam scored a goal off his assist. It felt pretty great, watching the redirect go top shelf, but not as good as the celly.

Cam skated towards him, grinning widely, arms wider. “Nice one, Dubi!” He shouted as he got within hearing distance. 

Brandon, in a moment of reckless abandon, grinned right back, and, with a stroke of inspiration, scooped up Cam under his raised arms and lifted him up, skates barely brushing the ice.

“Put me down, asshole,” Cam yelled, laughing. “I’m short, but I’m a real anklebiter.”

“I know, Calvert already showed me the scars,” Brandon replied, grinning smugly. After a moment, he set Cam back down gently on his skates, hands gravitating to Cam's hips. Any other guy, Brandon probably would’ve let fall on his ass and laughed as he went down. It was just the way he was built.

He wasn’t sure what it said that he didn’t want to see Cam fall down for any reason, really.

4.  
Brandon thought he was ready for how he’d feel when they made the playoffs. He’d done it before, obviously, in juniors and New York and Hartford, so he’d thought he knew what to expect.

As it turned out, making playoffs with a team that had managed it once, five years ago, was a whole different ballgame.

It was an away game, Dallas fans all around the rink with barely a hint of blue, but Brandon didn’t really care about that. He didn’t care that they’d started the game up 1-0, he didn’t care that they’d kind of played flat because of it. What he did care about was seeing Arty score the 2-0 goal, seeing Testy get on on the power play.

The little moments, leading up to the buzzer sounding, Columbus up 3-1. The sound of his skates hitting the ice the moment after. Launching over the bench, skating towards Bob, smiling so wide Brandon could see it thirty paces away. 

Usually Brandon waited by the bench, gave every guy a fistbump as they skated to the tunnel - it saved him from giving into his impulse to do sappy bullshit after a good win. This time, though, he joined the hug line, felt more than heard Arty skate in behind him. He kept his eyes forward though, on the #13 in front of him and the blond curls that snaked out from under Cam’s helmet, stuck to his neck with sweat. Brandon, completely sober, exhausted from the game, really wanted to spin Cam around and kiss him right on the mouth, 16,000 Stars fans be damned.

Behind him, Brandon heard Arty snort. He turned his head, eyebrows raised.

Arty was clearly trying not to grin. “Enjoying the view, Dubs?”

“Fuck off,” said Brandon, eloquently.

“Wow, so scary,” Arty said, giving into his urge to grin. Brandon felt a twinge in his chest, around the place his supposedly cold, shrivelled heart resided. It was a good thing he was over that whole situation.

He shook his head, turning back to face the net. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

The hug line moved slowly, and by the time Cam had given Bob his regular head pat and side hug Brandon was more or less emotionally recovered enough from his inappropriate thoughts to give Cam a wide grin when he turned to skate back up the line.

He put his hand up for a high five. “Welcome to the playoffs club, baby.”

Cam rolled his eyes. “Thanks, asshole.” He ignored Brandon’s hand, spread his arms wide and swooping in to squeeze Brandon around the middle.

Brandon froze for a second, then grinned and hugged him back, patting his helmet so hard it almost fell off. 

“Hey, Dubs, leave some for the rest of us,” shouted Arty, who Brandon had almost forgotten about. He flipped him off, leaving the other arm around Cam’s shoulders.

“Drink it in, bud.”

Cam let go after a couple more seconds, and Brandon did his absolute best not to look disappointed. Whether he succeeded or not was up to who you asked - Arty was definitely in the ‘not’ camp.

Hugging Bob after that was a bit of a let down - Brandon didn’t want to step on Nick’s toes when it came to hugging the guy, so he kept it low-key with a head tap and a grin. Bob seemed happy with it anyway, although Brandon thought he saw a hint of disappointment when he spotted Arty bringing up the rear instead of his regular hug buddy.

Brandon gave him another head pat. “Hey, just think. Nick’ll be back in time for playoffs.”

Bob laughed. “Good point.” He leaned sideways, around Brandon, to beckon Arty forward. “Now scram, Dubinsky, I have to congratulate my true friend.”

“It’s the Russian connection,” said Arty with a smug grin and a shrug. Brandon rolled his eyes and skated off to the tunnel.

For all the chaos on the ice, once they got to the locker room the team silently agreed to get out of the arena as quickly as possible. They had a flight to Tampa the next day, and hangovers to develop before check-in.

Brandon got the first round in, in the absence of Nick, who usually picked it up and was at that point stuck in Columbus with a knee brace and a permanent frown. He’d texted him to check in, after the game, and received a couple of confusing emojis. The day Cam had introduced Nick to emojis had been, in retrospect, a mistake.

A couple of rounds in, Brandon was feeling pleasantly buzzed, sat at a booth with Cam, Matty and Joey. Joey was probably the most wasted of the four of them, although Matty was getting close. Brandon had, with surprising maturity, decided to alternate beer and soda and was doing okay.

He sighed as Joey faceplanted the table, grinning. “Alright, I’m taking Joey to his room. Someone wanna give me a hand?”

“Woah, Dubi being the designated driver? Who are you and where’s the asshole we know and love?” Matty was slurring a little, but not so badly that Brandon felt bad rolling his eyes.

“Give it up, Calvert. Cam?” He turned to Cam, who had joined Brandon in alternating drinks and still looked decently alert.

“Sure thing! I might turn in as well, actually, I got a killer headache last time I got drunk in Dallas.”

“It’s the water,” said Matty, as sagely as he could. “‘S got minerals and all that bullshit.”

Brandon didn’t bother to respond, and set to getting Joey’s arm over his shoulder. “Rise and shine, kid,” he said cheerfully. “We’ve gotta get you into a real bed before your neck gets stuck that way.”

Cam slid out of the booth and got Joey’s other arm over his shoulders. “Oi, Matty,” he said. “Go sit with Savy and Jack, alright? I don’t want you getting lonely down here.”

“Your wish is my command,” said Matty, with an attempt at a flourish and a British accent. Neither attempt was very successful.

It took about three times as long to get Joey up to his room as it had for him to come down from it that morning, but they persevered. They left him to get his own pyjamas on.

“Alright,” said Cam, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. His shirt rode up a little, revealing a strip of stomach that drew Brandon’s eye like a magnet. “I think I’ll turn in.”

Brandon slid his eyes back up to Cam’s face. Usually he wouldn’t be quite so blatant in checking him out, but the alcohol had clearly affected him more than he thought.

Unfortunately looking at Cam’s face meant dealing with Cam’s smile, which was still as distracting as it had been that first day they’d met, a year and a half earlier. If anything it was more distracting, because it was attached to a personality Brandon hadn’t known half as well back then. 

The urge to kiss him rose once again in Brandon’s chest, the same urge he’d been wrestling down for a good fifteen months of that year and a half. 

Cam had stopped smiling, although his eyes were still bright. Brandon’s breathed hitched.

“So,” said Cam, leaning against the doorframe of his own room. “Like what you see?”

Brandon blushed. Cam laughed, a little too loud in the quiet hallway.

“I, uh,” Brandon said. “Yes?”

“Oh,” said Cam, brightly. “Awesome.” He straightened, chin tilted upwards so he could look at Brandon’s face. “Wanna celebrate the win?”

Brandon felt himself grin. “Well,” he said. “If you insist.”

“Smooth, man,” Cam said, putting one hand on Brandon’s chest, unlocking the door with his other hand. Brandon followed him as he walked backwards into the room, Cam’s hand still resting squarely over his heart.

As soon as the door shut behind him, lights on low, Brandon leaned down and, without ceremony, kissed Cam. His eyes slid shut.

It was sort of like fireworks, and a little bit like getting stabbed. Perfect.

He could feel Cam smiling, close-mouthed, which was a lot more attractive than it had any right to be. He smiled back at him, kept kissing him for a few more seconds. Buried one hand in Cam’s soft curls, rested the other one on his waist.

Cam pulled away first, but only a couple of inches. “How the fuck did this take us so long?”

Brandon snorted. “Uh, we’re idiots?”

“Yeah,” said Cam, curling one hand around the back of Brandon’s neck. “Sounds about right to me.” He sank his fingers into Brandon's hair. "God, your hair is so fucking stupid." 

"Takes one to know one," said Brandon, tugging lightly at Cam's own curls. The light gasp it drew from him was unexpected, but Brandon could definitely work with that, given a little time. 

"You're lucky I like you so much," Cam replied, an emotion Brandon chose not to recognise bleeding into his voice. "God knows why." 

"It's my winning personality," said Brandon, backing them towards the bed, step by careful step. "That, and my movie-star looks." 

Cam laughed. Brandon's stomach swooped. "You keep telling yourself that," Cam said. His voice was soft despite the sarcastic edge. His fingers brushed Brandon's cheek. 

Brandon winced, minutely, and leaned in to kiss the sincerity off Cam's face. It was all a little too much after the night they'd had, but not in a bad way. Maybe in just the way he needed, he thought as Cam finally caught his knees on the edge of the bed and sprawled backward, smiling up at him from the pillows. 

"You gonna get down here sometime, Dubinsky? I ain't got all weekend y'know." Cam's smile really was a problem. It made Brandon want all kinds of stupid things. 

He settled for kissing him again, lying down over him with his weight resting on his elbows. A lock of hair curled over his forehead, a desperate escapee from the gel he'd put in after the post-game shower. Cam reached up to push it back, brushed Brandon's cheek with the backs of his fingers as they came back down. Brandon shuddered at the touch, just slightly. 

"Hey, man," Cam said softly. "Calm down. It's just me." 

Brandon huffed a laugh. "Sure, Cam, that makes it way less scary. At least if I fuck up on a one night stand I never have to see the guy again." 

"Just a hair-gelled blur on the horizon, huh?" Cam looked thoughtful. "There's not much you could do to fuck this up, Dubs, I won't lie. I've, uh, been wanting this for a while." 

"Me too," Brandon admitted. He had a feeling his hard-on had already intimated the point pretty well, but it bore repeating. "A real long time." 

"Better not waste any more, then," said Cam, decisively. He put one hand on Brandon's chest, over his heart, and the other one on the back of his neck. "Kiss me, you fool." 

They both grinned. Brandon leaned down again, pressed his lips to Cam's. His pulse was hammering in his ears, probably against Cam's palm as well, kept him from thinking too hard about what they were doing. The slick feeling of Cam's mouth was plenty distracting as well, the occasional scrape of teeth against his bottom lip. It felt pretty fucking good. 

He shifted, resting all his weight on one elbow so he could free his hand from under a plump pillow embroidered with a needlessly fancy H. Once he'd wriggled it free he smiled, then rested it on Cam's chest, a mirror of the one still on his own. "Got any bright ideas?" Brandon asked, fluttering his eyelashes. 

Cam rolled his eyes, thrusting his hips up in a manner more suggestive than desperate. The outline of his dick was visible through his pants; it made Brandon's mouth go dry; his pulse, impossibly, got a little faster. 

"Right," he said, almost to himself. He slid down the bed and pulled Cam's fly open in one smooth motion, tugging down his pants to reveal tight briefs in a second, less smooth movement. His mouth was still dry. He kept his breathing steady with the kind of iron will he usually reserved for keeping himself out of fights. It wasn't that effective, really, the sound of his breaths getting harsh even to his own ears. 

He looked up to find Cam looking down at him with a mix of lust and that same uncomfortable, unnameable emotion. Brandon flushed. "Any requests?"

Cam propped himself up on the pillows again, looking thoughtful. He reached one hand, casually, towards Brandon's mouth, pressed against his lower lip with the pad of his thumb. Brandon couldn't quite tear his eyes away from Cam's. He opened his mouth, just an inch, almost absently. Cam pushed his thumb in, hummed pleasantly when Brandon ran his tongue over it, sucked at the end. Brandon had a pretty good idea what Cam was getting at. His dick, despite his attempts to ignore it, throbbed insistently at the idea. 

He drew off Cam's thumb with an odd, popping sound that would've been funny in pretty much any situation except the one he was in. As it was, the warm look in Cam's eyes, combined with the imminent promise of Brandon's preferred sexual activity, was almost as far from funny as he could get. His vision was getting a little blurry, he realised, and he took a hasty breath in. Cam's warm look still bore down on him, resting between Cam's legs, still fully clothed and yet feeling pretty naked under his gaze. 

Resolving to fix at least one part of that, Brandon sat back on his heels and started to unbutton his shirt. His suit jacket, at least, he'd shrugged off before heading to the bar earlier in the evening. After getting the top button loose, he felt Cam's hand on his wrist, stopping him. "Let me," said Cam, voice low and sweet. "Figure I should do something for you first, right?" 

Brandon held his breath as Cam worked his way down his shirt, slowly, taking probably twice as long as he should have on each button. Each careful inch of Brandon's skin that got revealed was explored, hesitantly, by Cam's fingers. No hockey player had smooth hands, after so many years of practice, and the rough scratch of the callouses on Cam's hands against his chest had Brandon a little wild by the time his shirt was finally pushed off his shoulders. 

"Hot," said Cam, appreciatively. He was on his knees, by then, and used the minor (and rare) height advantage to lean down and lick at Brandon's neck. Brandon yelped, loudly. Cam, the little bastard, laughed. 

"Keep it to yourself," Brandon grumbled. Waving Cam's hands away, he undid his own fly and pushed his pants down, throwing them across the hotel room to rest on the windowsill. His dick was clearly visible through his boxers, fully hard and in fact a little painful from the lack of stimulation outside of Brandon's treacherous brain. He made short work of Cam's shirt, throwing it over to join his pants. Cam, ticklish, giggled as Brandon applied his own tongue to his neck, but the giggles soon became accompanied by the kind of breathless moan that went straight to Brandon's dick. He took a deep breath. 

"Wanna, uh, get back to what you started?" Cam asked, breathing more than a little laboured. 

Brandon, breathing no better, smiled. "Your wish is my command." He took up his earlier position on the bed, kneeling between Cam's thighs. He pushed gently at the other man's knees, bringing them together long enough to tug off Cam's briefs, freeing his dick. He took a moment to drink in the sight of it, trying not to compare it to his ongoing, clearly inaccurate fantasy version. For one thing it was 100% more real. 

He looked up at Cam one last time, searching for any sign of uncertainty. Cam slid a hand into his hair, gripped just this side of too tight. Right, then. 

It wasn't that Brandon loved sucking cock above everything else about sex. He could certainly appreciate more or less anything safe and consensual. It was just that he really, really loved sucking cock. There was something intoxicating about the weight of it on his tongue, the way the other guy moaned when he did it right that went straight to his hindbrain and got him going just a little quicker than anything else. 

Cam, as it turned out, made the best noises. Brandon had barely got his dick in his mouth before Cam let out a breathy moan that he knew immediately would be featuring in his jerk-off fantasies for months. He hummed, taking his mouth off the head for a moment before licking up from balls to tip and getting another highlight reel sound. It was all over a little more quickly than Brandon would've liked, really. He was a little out of practice, as it was, and didn't manage to take more than two inches or so before Cam's thigh muscles tensed and his grip on Brandon's hair pulled tight. There was some kind of warning that he barely heard, focused as he was on getting through to the end without coming in his boxers. Brandon held on, riding it out and, with hardly a thought, he swallowed. It tasted about the same as he remembered most other guys' tasting, but that wasn't really the point. 

He sat up, feeling shaky and more turned on than he had been since he'd left New York. There was something to be said for resolving sexual tension. 

Cam, after a good thirty seconds of blissed out silence, grinned dopily at him. "Come here," he said, beckoning with his free hand. Brandon obliged. He was pretty sure he'd do anything Cam told him to, possibly including murder. Cam kissed him, sweetly, on the lips, and pushed one hand into Brandon's boxers. He hissed at the contact, his neglected dick almost too sensitive to the touch. It didn't matter, though, not when Cam was whispering such nice things into his ear, moving his hand gently up and down, building up Brandon's orgasm so slowly he almost didn't notice the way his toes were curling into the mattress, his thighs tensing. "Good boy," sighed Cam, right next to his ear. Brandon's breath hitched, an unexpected surge of heat at the words translating into a brick wall of an orgasm. He gasped a little as he came back to himself, sticky and sweaty and feeling just a little blissed out. 

He sighed, pleased, as Cam arranged them into a more comfortable position, lying front to back, Brandon's arm around Cam's waist. He smiled, hidden at the nape of Cam's neck, and pressed a kiss there. 

"Soft," snorted Cam quietly. 

"Don't tell anyone," said Brandon, sweetly. "Or I'll seriously slip your barber $20." 

 

5.  
Cam [rat, blue heart] [16:45]: babe did u get milk

Brandon [17:10]: yes

Cam [17:15]: you just went and bought some

Cam [17:16]: didnt you

Seen ✓ at 17:17

Cam [17:30]: dork

Brandon [17:45]: i also got your dumb fancy dog food for easton

Brandon [17:50]: come home so i can see you spoil your stupid cute dog

Cam [17:55]: p sure if you buy the food hes your dog too

Brandon [18:00]: shut up

Brandon [18:05]: i said hes cute nothing else

Brandon [18:10]: he ate my favourite shoes last week

Brandon [18:12]: we are enemies. i hate him more than crosby

Cam [18:15]: keep digging babe you know you love him

Cam [18:17]: i accept ur weird crush on cros you accept my dogs teeth on ur shoes

Cam [18:18]: [boys holding hands emoji, dog emoji] this could be us but u playin

Brandon [18:20]: just come home cam

Brandon is typing…  
Brandon is typing...  
Brandon is typing...  
Brandon is typing...

Brandon [18:25]: i miss you

Cam [18:26]: love you too, babe

+1.  
“Ten goals, baby!” 

Dubi was in a good mood. This was fine by Zach, because they were all in a good mood. A really good mood, in fact.

There was a kind of beauty to scoring so many goals it felt mean to celebrate where the other team could see you. Of course, that didn’t mean they weren’t going to celebrate where the other team _couldn’t_ \- in this case, the locker room with Cam’s latest playlist playing through the speakers. They’d waited until after all the media had cleared out, staying solemn faced the whole time, but they’d only lasted a couple of seconds after that before going a little nuts. They’d earned it.

“Heyyy,” he said, as Josh sat down at the stall next to him. “ _Two_ goals, huh? Never thought I’d be roomies with a power forward.”

Josh smirked, glancing at him without turning his head. “Never thought I’d be roomies with a nerd, but that’s just life sometimes, eh?”

“Weak chirp, bro,” said Zach, shaking his head. “Weak chirp.”

“Sorry, I got all tired out scoring those goals,” Josh replied, and shoved Zach hard enough to make him wobble a bit in his seat. Zach couldn’t help but grin.

He was distracted from thinking up a comeback by Dubi, who’d seized the moment and swung Cam up into a bridal carry. Cam didn’t look that surprised - Zach guess being the shortest guy on every team had got him into this situation a few times - and Dubi was still grinning, looking down at Cam with something Zach hadn’t seen on Dubi’s face before. If it was anyone but Dubi he’d probably have called it affection.

Zach fought down his urge to go and rescue Cam, who had started to laugh and swing his legs over Dubi’s arm, digging his heels in on every swing. Nick, Zach’s barometer for what was normal locker room behaviour, seemed unconcerned. He was already changed and sat with Bob, laughing as much as the rest of the room over Dubi’s impromptu Disney Prince act.

Dubi, for his part, wasn’t even wincing at Cam’s kicks.

“Hey, Dubs,” shouted Calvert, from the other side of the room. “Where’s my handsome prince to sweep me off of _my_ feet?”

“Take a number, Calvert,” said Cam, cheerfully. “These arms ain’t a timeshare.”

Dubi didn’t bother to reply beyond rolling his eyes. Instead of setting Cam down, as that would be a good idea considering their relative weights, Dubi took a moment to get a better grip around Cam’s back. “Good game, Cam,” he said, sincerely.

“Thanks,” said Cam, equally sincerely. 

This was the moment Zach probably should’ve looked away. As it turned out, Brandon Dubinsky, noted NHL menace, liked PDA.

With barely a glance around the room, he leaned in and kissed Cam square on the mouth. It was pretty romantic, Cam’s hands coming up to bury themselves in Dubi’s thankfully ungelled hair, Dubi smiling into it like it was the best idea he’d ever had. Like there was no one else he’d rather celebrate a ridiculous win with.

Boone, to Zach’s left, let out a whoop, and clapped. “Fucking _finally_!”

Similar comments echoed around the locker room, mostly from the guys who’d already been in Columbus a few years. Zach, with his best attempt at a poker face, looked over at Jack and raised his eyebrows.

Jack laughed. “Oh man, Z, that one’s been simmering for a long time.”

On hearing this, Dubi carefully set Cam down, ruffled his hair with a soft smile, and flipped Jack off with calculated accuracy. “You goddamn liar, Johnson. We already told everybody two fucking _years_ ago. Not my fault if the rookies get scarred.”

This was met by a round of boos, which the rookies joined in on.

Cam rolled his eyes, and patted Dubi’s hand where it rested on his waist. “Don’t hate us ‘cause you ain’t us.”

“You are 27 years old, Cam,” said Matty. “And those words, in that order, just came out of your mouth. For _shame_.”

“I got nothing to be ashamed of,” Cam replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I promised Dubi a ride home.”

Boone wolf whistled as they walked away.

Dubi spun on his heel and flipped him off, walking backwards. As they disappeared down the hall, Zach thought he could hear Cam speaking, soft but cheerful, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“He thinks he’s so cool,” said Boone, to the room at large. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Cam probably thinks it’s sweet,” Savy said, with a tone that could almost be called fond. “God knows why else he’d put up with the guy.”

The room settled back down into the usual, quiet post-win euphoria.

Zach, feeling oddly emotional, dropped his eyes to his feet. He’d taken his skates off on autopilot, and replaced his game socks with the novelty Michigan print ones his mom had sent him. 

He’d gotten a compliment from Jack, of course, and a dirty look from Prouter. It was a work in progress.

“Nice socks,” said Josh, knocking their shoulders together. “Where’d you get them from, the nerd store?”

“I hate you,” said Zach, deliberately monotonous.

“Sure you do,” Josh said. He waited while Zach put on his dress shoes, then stood up. “Let’s get back. I recorded Chopped.”

“And you call _me_ a nerd.”

Josh shrugged. “Takes one to know one.”

“Dumbass,” Zach said, affectionately.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Cold is the Night by The Oh Hellos, which is not really a Cam/Dubi song but I think it's a pretty good Cam/Dubi title.
> 
> This is my, hmmm, third time writing smut so I hope it worked for you!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this, recip! I really loved writing this, I have a soft spot for Dubi's soft spot if that makes sense, so it was nice to indulge in it for a while.


End file.
